


Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Listener’s Whore

by DirtyScrolls



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blackmail, Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Dirty Talk, Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), Fantastic Racism, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Licking, M/M, Mention of Necrophilia, Morag Tong, Nipples, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Post-Thieves Guild Questline (Elder Scrolls), Punishment, Rape, Sloppy Seconds, Tears, Threats of Violence, Whipping, as usual, ok some plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25947739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls
Summary: The Dragonborn shows Ravyn Imyan what he means to him.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ravyn Imyan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33
Collections: Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Dragonborn and Ravyn Imyan





	Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: The Listener’s Whore

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth in a casual semi-series about my “I’m-going-straight-to-hell” take on a situation that comes up as you advance in the Thieves’ Guild questline, if you are also a Dark Brotherhood member. It might be a good idea to read the other Dragonborn/Ravyn Imyan installments of "Adventures of a Mer-Chaser", especially “Ravyn Imyan’s Performance”, but I think those familiar with the involved factions can fill in most of the blanks. I hope you like it.

As Brynjolf’s footsteps across the Cistern faded, Kordin licked the taste of the handsome redhead’s kiss from his lips. He could detect the salt of seed and remembered how Brynjolf had looked as he enjoyed tonguing his conquest clean.

The ex-Morag Tong agent was on his back with his eyes closed, and his legs still open, breathing deeply. His sharp cheekbones were pink. His mouth had a similar color, and it was swollen and damp from being kissed. That bare, lean, ash-colored body looked entirely untensed, lax. His thick glossy hair fell across his forehead and along one side of his face. He looked deliciously used.

Next to his body was the white stain from when Brynjolf got him off with his cock and hand--somehow forced an orgasm from the stubborn elf. Kordin’s spark of jealousy began to grow, in spite of the erotic show they had given him. He supposed he regretted sharing his deadly little prize. His nostrils flared.

He stood and arranged his armor, joined Imyan on the bed. The ex-assassin reeked of a mix of his own sweat and come, and that of the man who’d just had him. Kordin slid a hand along his face to his visibly kissed lips, down his narrow chin, along his throat. He was gratified that this made Imyan shiver.

“You really liked all that, didn’t you, Ravyn? Really liked getting fucked?”

“I did as you told me,” Imyan said, eyes meeting the Listener’s. He moved his hand as if to indicate that the rest was obvious. “I have to.”

“Glad you haven’t forgotten that.”

“How could I, when you so often remind me?” 

Something in Imyan’s tone had changed. The Dunmer ran a long-fingered hand along Kordin’s arm. Kordin looked at him, suspicious.

“What would you do with me, if you had me there?” Imyan looked full into Kordin’s eyes, his own fathomless red eyes hazy. “Back at your--Sanctuary.”

“You’re trying to distract me.” Kordin brushed Imyan’s hand off his arm. “Look. You’re not to seek out Brynjolf again, without my permission.”

“What if I need to see him for a job?” Imyan asked, with a kind of flirtatious, false innocence.

“You know what I mean, grey-skin. I don’t want you offering that ass again. Or that mouth, or your prick. He doesn’t get you unless I offer you.” Kordin petted Imyan’s cheek and the hair falling around his ear. “There is, I think, such a thing as doing too good a job. You may have been a fine little actor—a murdering whore--when you had to be, and I commend you—but, does that really account for your behavior tonight?” He cupped the Dunmer’s strong jaw in his hand. “No. You fucking loved it. You would have bent your ass over for him eventually, even if I never told you to do it. Wouldn’t you?”

Kordin drew back his hand and slapped Imyan across his well-kissed mouth. The elf hissed in pain. Kordin’s cock thrilled to it. 

He started to remove his belt, transferring the dagger hanging from it to his boot. 

“You’re not the Guild whore, Ravyn Imyan; you’re my whore. Thought you’d realize that by now, but if you haven’t, perhaps you need to be taught. Hmm, or maybe I should just offer you around and see who wants to play with you? Dirge? Vex with some of her custom toys from the smith? Maybe you’d prefer Niruin? Better than ending up in the Sanctuary.”

“You never answered,” Imyan told him, his lips and chin turning pink from the slap, a little blood showing through a minute crack in his thick lower lip. He eyed the belt Kordin had removed.

“What?”

“What you’d do with me there.”

They looked at each other. Imyan’s red eyes glimmered and his elegant hand returned to the Nord’s arm.

“I’d put my blade in your neck.” The Listener took his arm away. “Now, quit it. You’ve already got a lashing coming.” 

“Yes, you’d like to cut my throat, wouldn’t you?” Imyan moved closer to Kordin, his voice pitched low. “And after I’m all bloody, all yours? What do you do with me then?”

“Damn you—stop trying to distract me.” Kordin glared. Imyan watched his hands as he stretched the length of leather between them. “As I was saying, you are not the whole Guild’s whore.” The Nord eyed Imyan pointedly. “That means you’ll make your best efforts to please me, not Brynjolf, not anyone else.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Imyan almost dared sound exasperated. Then his half-lidded eyes found Kordin’s again. “So, you like to play with your prey after the kill. Wouldn’t be the first. Would you like it if I lay still and just let you--”

Kordin tugged firmly at his mussed hair. That shut him up. 

“I already know you can please a man when you try.” He smoothed the elf’s pulled hair. “Don’t try to get out of this.”

The Listener rose from the bed, looping the belt in his hand.

“How do you need me?” Imyan sounded genuinely resigned, which was far more interesting than his pretenses. He sounded like he’d been ordered into a whipping more than once before, and Kordin wondered if the Morag Tong had ever employed any interesting disciplinary techniques. His cock strained in his leather armor.

“Turn over and spread your thighs.”

Imyan turned. There was still a little semen Brynjolf’s tongue had missed, drying on his back. 

Kordin lost no time. He whipped him with quick but sharp strokes, smiling as he made the mer’s sleek body jerk in pain. Kordin concentrated on his shoulders and his upper thighs and buttocks, due to the beauty of those parts, how pleasingly they twitched at the harsh touch of the lash. Imyan had the sense to hide his face in the bed to try to muffle any sounds he might make. He was gasping after the first minute of the whipping.

“Spread further,” Kordin demanded. “Show me that pretty grey crack.”

Imyan opened his legs so they formed a wide “V”, quickly shifting his sack well out of the way. Kordin laughed at this desperate attempt to avoid at least some pain. He salivated as Imyan revealed the dark pinkish-grey of his cleft between his spread buttocks. 

Imyan’s body shook with the impact of the belt across his ass, and his round cheeks clenched at each rapid blow. It was bliss to watch him redden and squirm. The mer’s rump was soon solidly marked, so Kordin returned to the lean muscles of his shoulders, beating long dark-red stripes into the even grey flesh, which flexed under the sharp pain. 

The snap of the belt and even some of Imyan’s cries and groans echoed in the Cistern, but Kordin wasn’t worried. The Flagon was most popular this time of night, and if anyone came into the Cistern, they wouldn’t be shocked to hear the sound of whipped flesh or even yelling or tears from the Guildmaster’s sleeping area. He’d spent the night there more than once with Teldryn Sero after he’d been mouthy, disobedient—or especially needy.

“Does that hurt? Be honest.”

“Of course—” Imyan said between lashes, cringing into the bed as the leather fell heavily, rhythmically across his sore shoulders and down the planes of his back. “Of course it does.”

“Divines, but you look beautiful like this,” said the Nord, almost to himself, as he stepped back to appraise his work. “Let’s see how you like what comes next.”

Kordin smirked and landed the end of the belt directly in the cleft between the parted ass-cheeks. Imyan jumped and howled into the bed-clothes. He looked back at Kordin, his teeth bared. His eyes shimmered, as if tears of pain had started to prick them.

“How about that, grey-skin whore?” 

Kordin did it again. Imyan’s body convulsed in pain. His face was buried in the blanket. His movement had made him arch his back, further exposing the now-reddened crack. 

The Nord rearranged the belt so that the buckle-end would hit Imyan, again taking it to his already smarting cleft. Imyan yelped, and Kordin thought he heard him biting back a sob.

As if in a trance, he laid stinging purple-red kisses over the once-ashen flesh, watched the mer’s back and ass twitch with pain. His other hand was freeing his hot prick from his armor. He stroked himself leisurely as he punished the elf.

Rising excitement made Kordin whip the Dunmer harder, hoping he would get tears from him. There were more grunts, muffled yells of shock and agony, but no sound of crying. Soon, though, there were little streaks of blood on the other man’s grey thighs. After inflicting a good many small biting wounds, the Listener put aside the belt, came to the bed and bent to lick the scant red liquid off the well-beaten skin. The taste of the blood quickened his pulse.

Imyan was shuddering, hiding his face. The Nord grabbed his slim hips and flipped him to examine his cock. It was completely soft. When he looked in Imyan’s eyes, they were tired, but dry.

“If I had Brynjolf whip you next time, I wonder if you’d come from that.” Kordin mused, slapping Imyan’s thigh. “Tell me. Why’d you come for him?”

“He was... softer.” Imyan grimaced. 

“Oh?” chuckled Kordin. “He didn’t seem ‘soft’ to me.”

“Gentler, I mean. You’re Nords-- you’re bigger. So…”

“I like hearing you say that,” Kordin told him, rubbing the flesh he’d slapped. “Admitting it’s too much even for your tough grey ass. But I’m not sure that’s the whole truth; he fucked that tough grey ass pretty damn hard, in the end, and you moaned for it.”

“He—he took his time. Got me ready.”

Kordin grunted and flipped Ravyn Imyan over again, easily. The back of his body was gloriously marked and blushing, crimson all over from the beating, with the small purple bites of the buckle standing out. The Nord trailed wet kisses down the heated, smooth skin of Imyan’s back.

“Bet you liked his tongue in your pretty hole.” He ran a finger over the red, abused pucker. “If you weren’t fucking full of oil, I’d eat your ass till everyone in the Flagon heard you,” he said, brushing his mouth against Imyan’s crack. 

He spread the sore cheeks, rubbing with his thumbs. As he massaged the rim, pressing, he found Imyan’s hole was more open and pliant than a Dunmer man’s would usually be--because of Brynjolf’s damnably big cock. Kordin growled low and bit at the mer’s muscular ass-cheek—soft-skinned, well-marked flesh. Imyan groaned at the feel of teeth in his tender skin.

The Nord circled his victim’s thoroughly-used ring with his finger. The elf squirmed.

“How’s that feel, Imyan?” 

Kordin teasingly kissed Imyan’s pucker, wary of the remains of the oil. He poked at the hole softly. Imyan moaned into the blanket. Then he winced and gave little cries as Kordin’s rough fingers pinched and worried the sore skin of his cleft. The Nord stroked over the same spots soothingly, then returned to the reddened hole.

“You liked his big fingers in this dark tight asshole, didn’t you?”

Kordin gave the inner crack more small pinches.

“Like I said—he got me—ah!--ready.”

“That’s what I’m going to do now, elf. You like that idea?”

He reached under Imyan. To his delight, he found his cock seemed to be thickening just a bit.

“Oh. I remember seeing this lovely cock stand straight up for him. Let’s see what happens.”

Kordin played a little with the surface of the grey-skin’s hole, then he jabbed his first finger in. Imyan’s body twitched and he yelped into the bed.

“Think you’d be used to it now.” He twisted his finger.

Imyan gave a kind of pained snort and opened his legs further when Kordin introduced another finger. His back tensed up. Kordin took a moment deciding whether or not to turn the man yet again. Did he want to see his face, or his back and ass? He felt more than blessed by Nocturnal, at the luck of such a choice. He kept him the way he was—face down, red, marked ass up.

Kordin slipped a third finger into the oil-smeared opening. It went more easily than usual.

“He did half my job for me,” Kordin said, moving his fingers aggressively in the mer’s backside. The passage was soft and slick. Imyan gave a brief shout at a hard jab.

“Try and stay quiet, unless you want the whole Guild to know what I’m doing to you. You want that, slut?” He wriggled his fingers roughly. “Do you?”

“N-no,” Imyan responded quietly.

“Well, that’s up to you, love. I couldn’t possibly care less if everyone sees you getting what you need. Might want to bite that blanket.”

Without further prelude, he positioned himself, tugged Imyan up by the hips, and stuck his prick inside his asshole with one decisive thrust. He heard Imyan cry out, and the mer’s fine long hands clawed at the bedclothes. Imyan lowered his head and pressed his mouth into the blanket as the hard, rapid fucking began, progressed, built up speed and rhythm. 

The way was smoothed by the oil and the previous use, but he was still tight enough to please. His writhing was delectable as Kordin’s hips slapped against his beaten buttocks, his large hands keeping him in place, and his cock probing deep into his sensitized passage. There was the familiar squelch of his prick entering and exiting the oiled hole, the increasingly fast smacks of flesh on flesh, Kordin’s heavy breathing, and the muffled groans of pain from the elf. 

Kordin reached under the squirming Dunmer and took his mostly-soft member in hand, handling it lightly. As he did so, he slowed the pace of his fucking. He leaned forward, pressing his chest into Imyan’s abused back, feeling hot skin against his.

“I can be gentle, too, you know,” he whispered into the ex-assassin’s sweaty neck. “I can make you like it.” He thrust slowly, rolling his hips “Make sure you come for me like a good little knife-eared slut.”

He massaged the head of the mer’s cock softly, running his finger over the slit. The motion of his hips slowed further, the thrusts shallower and shallower. He let his cock rest halfway in and halfway out of the elf’s body. 

He wrapped his hand around Imyan’s shaft, pumping it in the way he sometimes did to Sero when he wanted to arouse him for another round. Of course, Sero liked the friction on his over-sensitized prick. Kordin was more cautious with this mer, putting less pressure on Imyan’s shaft. 

After a moment of these light ministrations, his cock was growing, becoming plump and firm.

“Mmm. You do have a very beautiful prick, did I ever tell you that?” 

Imyan shook his head, face still buried in the cloth, neck blushing.

“Well, it’s true. Maybe sometime you’ll feel my mouth on it, if I’m pleased with you.”

Kordin removed his hand from Imyan’s member and licked his palm well, tasting the elf’s musk, getting his hand wet. Then he returned to gripping the hardening cock, masturbating him as he rocked lazily into him. He would have preferred to pick up speed, get full-deep into him, fuck him right into the mattress. 

But this was important. 

“You’re getting harder for me, Imyan. Nice and excited.” Kordin pressed his mouth against the Dunmer’s ear as he gave him long, unhurried thrusts. “You like being the Listener’s whore?”

Imyan spoke flatly. “I have no choice. You’re...”

“Does it feel good?”

Now the mer’s voice sounded small, dry, vanquished. “Yes.”

As he continued to stroke him, Kordin licked his ear and whispered, “Wonder what your old Guild would think if they saw you like this.”

Imyan made no reply, not that the Nord expected one. The mer was fully hard now, the flesh of his cock hot and silky. Kordin slipped his fingers again over the head to tease it, which caused Imyan to make unwilling noises of pleasure, partially dampened by the blanket. 

Kordin used the same rhythm to penetrate Imyan as he did to stroke him, forcing him to rock into his hand. As he stimulated him front and back, he suckled the side of his neck, not quite hard enough to leave a mark, licked him along the ears, kissed the area between his shoulder and neck.

“You’re so warm,” he muttered, “Still so damn tight.”

Kordin drew his damp hand up Imyan’s slim belly to his chest, where he found his nipples standing hard. He smiled to himself and rolled one of the sensitive nubs between his large fingers. Imyan’s body tightened up and the mer sighed loudly.

“Oh, you really like that.”

He shifted his hand to the other nipple, circling it, pinching it a bit. Imyan moved against his hand, as if wanting more. Kordin rubbed each nipple in turn, giving them equal attention. He kept up his small thrusts as he caressed his prey, licked the sweat from his back. Kissed his hair and his blushing neck and ears. 

“You want my hand on your gorgeous cock again, Imyan? I’ll make you come.”

Still hiding his face, the elf nodded once.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to say it out loud, handsome.”

Imyan raised his disheveled head, but did not look back at his tormentor.

“I—I want it.”

Kordin bit his ear. “My vicious little Morag Tong whore. Look at me when you talk. Let me see that pretty face.”

The Dunmer craned his neck to meet Kordin’s eyes, the very picture of humiliation, his entire face blazing pink under the grey. To the Nord’s delight, Imyan’s deep, slanted red eyes were damp and glittering. 

“I--want you to--to touch me,” the elf managed, through a trembling mouth. “Please.”

“I love your eyes, you know that? Especially when they’re nice and wet.” Kordin’s voice was thick with lust. He reached down once again and closed his hand around Imyan’s firm shaft, flicking his thumb over the head, which oozed hot pre-come. “Just about ready, aren’t you, dear?”

Now there was only the slippery sound of cock in ass, of Kordin’s determined hand jerking his prize’s moistened prick, as they rocked together on the bed. It seemed Imyan could not help moving with him, shamelessly seeking the sensations the Nord inflicted. When he came, his hot copious seed coated Kordin’s fist, and Imyan hid his groan of release in the blanket. 

The Nord licked his own hand off as he fucked Imyan through it, speeding up as if to chase his own climax. Each thrust made Imyan wince, his nerves already over-stimulated. Kordin watched his whipped back flex with discomfort. It looked fantastic. 

Moaning, he ran his hands down the marked back and pushed himself so deep inside Imyan that the elf cried out, sharp and loud. Kordin came, shooting what felt like pulse after pulse of come inside Imyan’s twice-used hole. 

Kordin pulled out with an obscene wet sound and rolled off him. He turned the limp, gasping Imyan so he could look into his flushed face, his teary, downcast eyes. Ignoring the Dunmer’s obvious shame, he embraced his shaky body, kissed him with a kind of lazy passion, sucking at his lower lip. Then he kissed his moist eyes.

“Told you I can be gentle,” he said, running a finger along his cheekbone. Imyan stared past him, his blush accentuating his strong features, his mouth slack and soft.

For an indeterminate length of time, he held Ravyn Imyan close to his larger body. He palmed his injured back and buttocks, savoring the supple, damaged flesh. Imyan stretched into it, as if he liked the soft touch and was too tired to pretend otherwise.

“Hope you won’t need punishing again,” the Listener whispered into his whore’s pointed ear--not meaning it in the slightest.


End file.
